


Holiday Traditions

by shieldivarius



Series: Femslash Yuletide 2013 [9]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, Femslash Yuletide, Prompt: Holiday Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldivarius/pseuds/shieldivarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>'Four days before,'</i> they called it, because that was when they met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holiday Traditions

_‘Four days before’_ they called it, because after the third year they’d felt as though they had to call it something, even if neither acknowledged that _it_ was anything at all. _‘Four days before’_ to mark the number of days before Christmas they met each year, not because the date had originated as anything special, but because once they realized their schedules had worked out to make the event fall on the same day three years running, it had become a _thing_ and they’d endeavoured to make it four days before Christmas each year following, even if they didn’t acknowledge that fact, either.

A damn, once-a-year meeting, and it had snuck up on Melinda out of nowhere, leaving her to scramble to be able to make the date. She was fairly certain that two years prior, Natasha had been stationed for two months in the Savage Land, over Christmas, and still made it, so being part of a mobile command unit was an added challenge for her, but no excuse.

They didn’t have an established way of letting the other know that they weren’t going to make it, either, because even ten years in, they didn’t officially, formally arrange _‘Four days before.’_ A reservation was always made. They both always showed. It happened. Standing Natasha up wasn’t an option.

They didn’t talk about the how or why, only accepted the status quo. That was part of the tradition as much as anything else.

The glowing _18:48_ on her dash cut through the darkness of the car now, bright numbers taunting her and her lateness as she crawled through the snow to get to the hotel. The flakes piled up on her windshield as quickly as the wipers could brush them away and the ploughs weren’t on the roads yet, leaving the going slow, compounding frustration onto an already frustrating day.

She wouldn’t be late now if her morning hadn’t already been so hectic, but after a Christmas prank gone awry had almost resulted in part of the lab on the Bus blowing up, heads had been hot—Coulson’s even more-so than hers. They all needed the time away, but Coulson had been reluctant to grant her the eighteen hours she’d requested. He’d only consented upon looking outside and realizing the rapid accumulation of snow meant that they wouldn’t be moving the Bus anytime soon.

Melinda had received her eighteen hours, even despite how tardy she’d been in putting in the request, but they’d started an hour later than she’d been counting on, and between that and the compounding snow, she was running nearly an hour and a half behind schedule.

Her phone buzzed, and Melinda spared a moment to glance at the text, because the car wasn’t moving much anyway. _'2106,_ ' it read. That would be the room number. She deleted the text.

It could probably be counted a goddamn Christmas miracle that Melinda reached the hotel, found a parking spot, and made it up to 2106 before 19:30. And it hadn’t been a long walk from the parking lot to the front door, but the snow was coming down hard enough that she was still stomping it off her boots when she knocked on the room door.

Natasha looked fresh and utterly unflustered when the door opened to reveal her, and she must have read Melinda’s mood right off of her face, because she didn’t say a word as she extracted the bottle of wine from Melinda’s hands and set it on the nearest table.

Melinda had only undone the top two buttons of her coat before Natasha caught her and pressed her back against the wall, careless of the damp, melted snow down Melinda’s front. Their lips met, and Natasha’s were soft and so warm under Melinda’s own, tasting of wine and nearly enough to make her forget the frustrations of the day. 

Melinda brought her arms up to pull Natasha against her. She’d forgotten. She always forgot how soft and small Natasha felt, up close and with her eyes closed, hiding the strength and force of personality in the depths of those bright green eyes.

“Are you hungry?” Natasha asked, pulling away. Her fingers ran up the front of Melinda’s coat, a scarce tickle through the thickness of the fabric, and she set to finishing with the buttons. Melinda shrugged it off when she was done.

“Starved,” she admitted, tracing Natasha’s figure with her eyes. She was wearing a rich, emerald green cocktail dress that hugged her from the chest, all the way down to where it ended just above her knee. Her feet were bare except for her tights. Natasha hung up the coat and turned to her.

“Then stop loitering in the doorway and come eat,” she said. 

Obedient, Melinda slipped off her boots and followed. Already set up on the little table in the antechamber of the suite was a plate of hors d’oeuvres—mini-quiche and shrimp in baskets, from what she could see—and two glasses of red wine. Natasha topped up the glass that already had a fair portion out of it.

They sat across from one another at the table, Melinda biting into a quiche. “I hope you weren’t waiting long,” she said. Natasha’s foot found hers under the table, toes tracing across the top, the nylon of her tights slipping easily back and forth across her sock.

“Not so long,” Natasha said, taking a sip of wine. Her foot travelled up to Melinda’s ankle, then a little bit higher before she helped herself to a quiche and it dropped away. Melinda felt a twinge of disappointment, but covered it with her own sip of wine.

They didn’t talk about work here, so she didn’t explain her lateness. Natasha would know without it being said, anyway.

She _did_ let her own foot search out Natasha’s, whose lips quirked when Melinda circled her big toe somewhere near the middle of her shin.

“It’s a nice suite,” Melinda commented. The temperature was set warm to combat the storm beyond the walls, and the warmth of the creams and bronzes in the decorations of the suite had her relaxing quicker than she’d expected. Her company, who was now trailing her other foot up Melinda’s as she played across her shin, certainly helped.

“King,” Natasha quipped. Melinda smiled and took another drink of wine as she turned to the dinner menu.

“Perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> http://shieldivarius.tumblr.com


End file.
